


Cold Sweat

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this in a blur sorry lol, Oneshot, bleed out, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 22:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: For now, all she could do was be there. Stay with her. Tell her she loves her.





	Cold Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I'll start this with a shout out to Toby, Aspen and Jenn. Thank you for your constant encouragement and feedback, guys. It means a lot.
> 
> Welp, I started Wentworth roughly two months ago and what can I say? I just got sucked right in. I instantly fell in love with the characters - namely Franky and Bridget, and wanted to put all my sappiness of emotions I've built up for them somewhere. And here be my very first Wentworth fic. I don't know if I've done justice lmao, but hopefully the next will be better. I've got a few ideas for more Fridget fics in future but for now, we'll see. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

I see this life

Through the eyes of others

And on, on this night

I will bide my time 

**\- Into the Unknown, Blackchords**

 

* * *

 

The hard and rough wooden flooring of the abandoned train was damp and ridged under Franky’s numb fingers. So, she could still feel with both hands as it happened, she thought. A gush of air exited her nostrils and whistled into the harsh atmosphere. Bridget had settled her down into a corner of the dystopia. Bridget Westfall – her Gidge, struggling with her leg and yet somehow Franky was easily able to trace the flush and fluster of silent panic across the blonde’s face.

While sitting upright, the brunette let out a stifled wince. Her swallow was thick and tight as she read what Bridget was thinking. The blonde sighed and fumbled around in her handbag for a moment before snakingly re-handing Franky the half-empty plastic bottle of water. “Jeez you must be thirsty, baby.” Franky responded by gulping a mouthful of the lukewarm liquid and screwing her eyes at the ghosted taste of iron at the back of her throat. “Thanks for coming, Gidge. Means a lot.” Her voice was faltered by weakness, but it was her eyes, the strongest part of her, that laid sternly on Bridget.

The blonde grimaced and leaned in to stroke a small strand of hair that fell into the corner of Franky’s eye. It looked too stubborn to be blinked away. “You thought I wouldn’t?” Her gruff though soft voice asked and the brunette gently shook her head, “guess you couldn’t resist me, huh?” That earned a nauseous chuckle from both. Bridget wished she could deny it.

There was a dead air between the two, that wasn’t just inflicted by the cold touch of a breeze that met their skin through the gaps in the wood, or even the elephant being one of them had a fucking bullet through their shoulder blade. It was a small, tight tension that had injected Franky with a rush in heart thumps and an anxiety making her sweat along neck and stomach. She couldn’t direct her brain to figure if it was the injury or the other thing she dreaded Bridget or even herself remotely acknowledge right now.

Wearily, she moved her trembling hand and clasped onto Bridget’s fingers. The older woman, or course, clasped back just as tightly and brushed her thumbs gently along the blooded skin. Her eyes didn’t leave the twinkling pair of emerald ones beneath her, just as Franky didn’t draw back. It didn’t feel right – fucking insane even, and how Bridget allowed herself to be crouched here, her leg admittedly in nearing agonising pain, in the middle of some outback and on the run like they were Thelma and fucking Louise, was quite bluntly completely beyond her.

But she kept her breath steady, her headache at bay and her panic under wraps and pretended to be stronger, even though she knew Franky knew and both of them knew how fucked and surreal everything was.

Bridget organised herself and sat awkwardly on her good leg, not breaking her grip on Franky’s hand. She looked at the girl once more, noticing the green orbs slowly becoming diluted with wetness. Upon noticing Bridget’s observation, Franky shrugged, sniffed harshly in an attempt to get the unfallen tears to dry up and forced the mucus and bile to slip back down her throat. Her cuts and bruises were already pulsing with pain enough already and fire was rocketing through her veins. She figured there was no need to end up rubbing more salt into them as a result of her own reckless, irrational emotions.

Bridget dragged a blooded hand through her hair, catching a few nots as she did so and attempted to keep her own chin from trembling. Through hefty breaths and her barrier threating to breakdown every moment that hanged on, the brunette mustered an element of courage and squeezed the name out from the back of her throat.

“Bridget…” It was like forcing a forty ton lorry from the back of her mouth. For the effort, it sounded completely pathetic and Franky winced – unsure if it was from the sound of her voice in her own ringing ears, or from another pulse of pain jolting its way across her shoulder blades.

The concerned deep blue pool of whimsical ocean eyes didn’t leave her own though, and for a moment the inmate on the run considered her words slowly. She peeled her eyes shut, thinking and hesitating, counting the very, very thin margin of options she had. A few words danced around her tongue before she even opened her mouth. They appeared before her closed eyes and reappeared as her conscience replayed the sentence. _I don’t think I have long left…._

The words were replaced by an afraid meek that somehow escaped her lips. She should have known. The tough girl act had long since crumbled ever since Bridget ever so gently broke that barrier and shattered every single angry, blood-raged perception she had on the world and left her one big lump of melting mess of all these feelings of love, pain and despair that she somehow felt toward one woman.

That thought alone had the tears flowing. The word unworthiness came to her mind.

But the blonde, and her stunning supernatural mind-reading ability Franky came to believe her woman had, allowed her panic to unfold and cupped the brunette’s cheeks, shushing as she did so.

She saw her pain, her sadness, her rage and her heartbreak unfold right in front of her and it was very almost too much for Bridget to handle. She wanted to scoop up every ounce of her despair, pick her up, tuck her in their cosy bed and snuggle up next to her. That was a long shot. Potentially never again, the bitter thought crossed her mind.

For now, all she could do was be there. Stay with her. Tell her she loves her.

Franky began again, “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, and wanted to say oh, so, _so_ much more than that lousy, pathetic excuse of an apology. Bridget didn’t move an inch. She continued to shush, and focus on the breaths that Franky was now hiccupping up like a little girl that had just fallen down in the mud. The amount of sobs were making her body jolt.

“I know, baby, I know, come on. Deep breaths with me, in and out,” they breathed together, slowly, calmly, and the blonde pressed a soft kiss to Franky’s forehead. She knew she was sorry. She knew there was much more to say. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“I fucking love you,” Franky mumbled, hissing at yet another wave of pain as Bridget applied pressure on the wound to prevent more blood. The blonde gave a sympathetic glance as she watched her girl sit through an unnamed amount of stinging to her fresh wound. “I love you too. I’m not going anywhere, baby, I promise,” her voice became shakily stern. “Now you stay with me.”

Franky stilled her breath. She was shit at keeping promises. But she was willing to put up a fight.

“Promise,” she nodded, smiling genuine and sweetly.

“Thank you.”

And there they sat. Waiting for their unknown fate.


End file.
